


The Question Game

by StumbleineSuperqueen



Series: Therapy Sex (Not Sex Therapy) [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Sexual Humiliation, We've got it all folks, cute conversation, features a lot of will blushing, flowery dramatic expressions of love, hannibal being silly and cute with will, hannibal never shuts up, hannibal rising refs, hardcore sex scenes, there are two tiny bits that might come off a little non-con, will and hannibal discover they have pleasantly complementary sexual interests
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 21:36:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7818211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StumbleineSuperqueen/pseuds/StumbleineSuperqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal nods once so Will can feel it and Will knows he's filing the information away somewhere behind his eyes. Hannibal enjoys drawing out others' personal details, for both business and pleasure. He is a collector of knowledge of all kinds. He has an insatiable mind.</p><p>Will loves him for it. He does not always love the questions.</p><p>TW: brief references to Will's teenage sexual experiences, masturbating to someone without consent</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Question Game

"Tell me something."

"What?"

"Anything."

So Will tells him: "My name is William Horace Graham."

"Yes."

"I am 41 years old."

"Yes."

"How old are you?"

"Fifty," Hannibal says. He strokes Will's cheek with the back of his fingers. "Tell me things I don't already know."

"What will you tell me?"

"What I can."

Will accepts it. There are different rules with Hannibal.

He looks for a kind of fairness in their dealings that is not quite reciprocity. The fairness lies in not expecting anything, and not making any promises. He does not put qualifiers on his answers, but that does not mean there are none. Hannibal will know that.

_Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies._

It also means he might play dirty, or rough. When they drink, the gap between Will and the rest of humanity narrows a little when it comes to Hannibal's treatment of him. Not maliciously. He just gets...a little forgetful. Sometimes pointedly so.

There can exist, in some special circumstances, love without trust.

"My father was a drunk," Will throws out.

"I know that." He's never told him.

"Well, it's going to be difficult to tell you things you don't know, Hannibal. You flirt with omniscience."

He rolls over in bed to press his back to Hannibal's chest and enjoys his warmth. It's true. In a certain sense Hannibal has just as much ability to see into people as he does. He just tends to use it differently.

"Try."

Will thinks harder. "I knew I was in love with you the night I killed Randall Tier." He stares at their shadow on the wall. "It was April 25th, 2014. Friday. I killed him, and I knew I would take him to you, lay him at your feet, because I wanted you to know too. And I couldn't be certain anymore that I would go through with Jack's plan. I _was_ sure. I knew what I wanted. And then...I didn't know."

"Good," is all he says. Will turns his head to look at him.

"What was your mother's name?"

Flecks of red in Hannibal's eyes. "She was the Countess Simonetta Sforza-Lecter."

Will says, "It's beautiful," and means it. "Your father was a count?"

"Yes. I am the only remaining Lecter. But for obvious reasons, I do not go by my title."

Will finds that funny. Hannibal pinches him.

Next Will volunteers solemnly, "I have had five sexual partners."

Hannibal merely looks at him.

"Not juicy enough?"

"I was waiting to see if you would ask."

"I know better than that."

"Wising up." He smiles without smiling. "I would not be able to tell you."

"You're a liar. You remember every single one."

"Yes. But I have never had the urge to tally them up. Why did you become a homicide detective?"

Will stretches a little, using it as an excuse to rub his ass on Hannibal's crotch. He doesn't really want to think about it. "I liked solving things, finding solutions. I had suffered so I wanted to reduce suffering. I knew I had something that helped me see into people and I thought I should try to use it.

"I had no illusions about changing the world, let alone New Orleans. But after my father died I was sick of boats, and I didn't want to enlist. As soon as I could I left for DC to go into forensics."

Hannibal nods once so Will can feel it and Will knows he's filing the information away somewhere behind his eyes. Hannibal enjoys drawing out others' personal details, for both business and pleasure. He is a collector of knowledge of all kinds. He has an insatiable mind.

Will loves him for it. He does not always love the questions.

"Did you find yourself changed as a result of working homicide?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"The nightmares started." His voice sounds flat in his ears.

"You started to withdraw. You got touchy. You got intense. They tried to send you to a head doctor for shell shock, did they not?"

"They did."

"But you wouldn't go."

"No, I wouldn't. I've always said therapy doesn't work on me," he says, half-sarcastically. _But it does. Boy, does it. Drop it please._

"You've been living with PTSD for a long time, then." Hannibal ponders for the length of three breaths. "Did your psychosis begin to present around the same time? No, never mind, it's your turn."

Will is relieved. He goes to it. "Do you love me?"

"Yes," Hannibal says.

"Would you die for me?"

"I have."

"What would you do if I left?"

"You wouldn't get far. I would kill you."

"I would do the same. Don't leave."

"I won't," he says. "And neither will you."

"Have you ever been in love before?" _Before me?_

That gives Hannibal pause. "Once. As a young man."

Will feels strange. "Did they love you?"

"No. Not once she saw. She asked me to break a promise, a vow at the very core of me, as the price of her love. I could have more easily walked on water, or raised the dead." Hannibal strokes his hip. "I would not have set aside my promise for her or any other living soul—I would not do it for you in her place."

Will is pleased—he would not want Hannibal to say he'd do it for him. Hannibal draws him in tighter; often when he talks of the past he wants Will securely in his arms. It was not for simple comfort. Will's thought is that Hannibal, like himself, might occasionally become unmoored in time by the strength of his remembering. Will is his anchor to the present.

"I thought I had been in love before," Will says to him, "but falling in love with you...everything else paled." He turns his face towards the pillow.

"I loved Molly. But I was in love with you. I needed to talk about the things that happened—I couldn't tell her...everything, but she could hear what I did tell her without judgment, and she understood the shades of things. But if I said your name, she went away inside and didn't come back for a long time.

"I thought at first that she was afraid of you, for me, because she had seen the scar, and for herself and Walter if you ever got out. But I think she sensed it, maybe even subconsciously, and even a whisper of it seemed to sicken and horrify her. Something about the way I said your name...just made her skin crawl," Will sighs heavily.

It still weighs on him sometimes. For two and a half years, every day, he had awakened fearing that today Molly would discover he was a monster. Because of the awful things he'd done, yes, because he was so crazy, yes. But almost more so...he had been afraid that some day he'd let something slip and everything would click into place and Molly would know. _Sorry, Molly, I want to love you, more than anything, but I can't because I'm still in love with the serial killer who used a linoleum knife to gut me like a fish and leave me for dead on his kitchen floor._

Every time he thought about Hannibal during those three years, guilt sat heavy in his stomach and made him sick. He was not faithful to Molly, not where it counted. Whenever Hannibal was on his mind he was double-timing her, and Hannibal was on his mind constantly. If it had been some piece in town, that would have been one thing. Maybe they could have screamed about it and made up. Molly was not an idealist, she knew people were weak. But this secret would have obliterated them.

When letters came (like clockwork, every month for nigh on three years), with their distinctive stationery and too-perfect calligraphy, Will found them placed on his pillow. He made a point of telling Molly repeatedly that he burned them unread, until she snapped, "I don't care."

He did burn them. Almost always. Sometimes, though, he would stand by the pile of burning leaves or driftwood and stare at the letter until the buzzing in his ears became unbearable and he opened it.

He always regretted it, and usually threw it on the fire before he finished reading. Hannibal wrote things like "someday we must..." and "next time I see you..." He never quite lapsed into verse, but he must have filled reams with gorgeous, lyrical, melancholy longing for Will's eyes, his voice, his body, the ways he wanted to make love to him. About his boredom he was flippant but it pained Will to think of the man who could write this in a place like that—what must surely be one of the world's finest intellects, confined to a box. The man he loved.

No matter what he did with the letters, Molly said hardly a word the rest of the night.

Will frequently caught himself being a little too cheerful, a little too affectionate those nights. A little too sweet and he talked a little too loud and got a little too drunk. Sometimes they had sex anyway. That was hard. All he could think about was how badly he wanted to be touching Hannibal. For Hannibal to be touching him...the way they'd never gotten to. Sometimes he'd lose his erection and Molly would insist it was fine and go to sleep, and he'd wait there for an hour before he snuck into the hall bathroom to jerk off and blurt Hannibal's name when he came. Quietly enough, he prayed.

Hannibal has caught him brooding and brings him back with soft kisses pressed against the back of his neck. Will feels triggered and hollow, but he nuzzles back against him to acknowledge the attention.

"Who's turn is it?"

"Yours again. You gave me what I wanted."

"Did you jerk off thinking about me in—the hospital?" He always wants to say "jail."

"Every day," Hannibal answers promptly, making Will smile.

He teases, "Even knowing Drs. Chilton and Bloom probably had their beady little eyes glued to the surveillance monitors?"

"All the more so," Hannibal deadpans, biting Will's earlobe as he snorts with laughter. "Made sure to call your name nice and loud so they could hear it out in the cheap seats."

"Oh Christ, don't say that!" Will flushes, but he's still laughing. Hannibal snakes an arm under Will's body and rolls on top of him, kissing Will's neck and grinding against his ass. Will's hysterics dissolve into happy gasps.

"What age did you lose your virginity, Will?" Hannibal murmurs in his ear. _Here we go._ Sometimes the Question Game turned into the Hannibal Gets Off on Your Discomfort Game.

Will has to think for a moment. "I was...14."

"Young. An older girl."

"Yes."

"A friend's big sister?"

"Hannibal..." It's both a moan and a warning. Hannibal is rubbing his cock against Will's ass, sliding up and down.

"Yes, she was," he decides. "She offered you pot, probably. You knew her slightly from school, by sight. As a boy..." Hannibal is getting lost in his thoughts, wandering a little. "You were thin, but with strength in you already from manual labour, had your full height. Let your hair get a little long. Tan. With your big blue eyes and those lips I bet you were prettier than half the girls. She had you, you didn't have her, but you could have had her."

"Okay, that's enough," Will says firmly. Every word is true. He doesn't like it, or the slither in Hannibal's voice as he describes a picture-perfect vision of Will as a teenage boy. "My turn."

"By all means," Hannibal says. He goes on thrusting lazily against Will's ass, over his boxers, his cock hard and moving back and forth across some sensitive territory. It's distracting, and Will is having trouble coming up with another question. The conversation is taking a sexual turn and he's wary. Hannibal's little question game is always dicey.

"Did you ever touch me when I was drugged or unconscious from the fever?" he asks finally. He has wanted to know, but as soon as the words leave his mouth he regrets asking right now. _Why in God's name would I ask that?_

"I looked. I did not touch."

Will can see himself draped across the chaise lounge in Hannibal's office, sees the hot fever in his vacant upside-down expression, shirt undone, bare feet dangling, jeans on but unzipped. Half-light. Arranged like an artist's model. Hannibal in his accustomed place, working his cock, gazing at Will's limp form through half-lidded eyes, clutching the arm of his chair, panting. Apprehension, arousal, disdain in quick succession.

"I don't know if this game is very good for our relationship, Hannibal."

"I asked only for information, not questions." He's right. _I should know by now not to ask him questions I don't want the answers to. I know what he's like._

Will is annoyed, because Hannibal is right, and because the image of Hannibal pleasuring himself to Will's unconscious body isn't fading as quickly as he'd like and he doesn't know how to feel about it. Or rather, he doesn't feel as negatively as he wishes he did. He feels...disturbed. And embarrassed.

He moves to get out from under Hannibal but Hannibal holds him down, something that always shoots a little spark through him. He's sure Hannibal senses it, feels his breath hitch a little, maybe even his heart rate picking up. Suddenly staying sounds like a good idea...especially because Hannibal is sliding down his boxers...

"Oh, Hannibal..."

"Mmmm..." Hannibal hums low in his ear. Their fingers entwine on the pillow and then sink into it as Hannibal straightens his arms. His hips circle and press in and back, in and back. Will sighs, melting into the mattress.

"Is it good?"

"Mm, _perfect..."_

"Do you like it this way? From the back?"

 _Oh, Jesus. We're still playing._ He hesitates a moment too long and Hannibal drives his cock suddenly into Will as far as he can, forcing Will to answer in a gasp: "Yes, yes, I like it from the back, you asshole."

"Good..." Hannibal's breath is short, his voice low and rough. It makes Will tingle. Especially the cold edge in it when, almost as conversationally as if they were in session, he follows up with "You like it when I use your ass to get off? When I fuck you good and hard until you make me cum?"

The words send a shockwave through him and Will moans and pushes back on Hannibal's cock, his face flushing again hearing himself talked about that way. "Hannibal..."

Hannibal pauses, slowing his movement for just a second. Will senses that something has occurred to him, that he's made an interesting connection between the blushing and the questions. _Shit fuck. Oh, no._

Quietly, casually, "Are you aroused by humiliation, Will?"

 _Fuck. Fuck fuck._ Will bites his lip and grips the pillow tight, mortified. Ironically. When Hannibal starts again he fucks him harder, fucks him into the mattress to loosen his lips. It's a devious and very effective strategy. Will makes an undignified noise.

"Yes or no will do."

"Yes, alright?" Will is dying a little inside, intensely self-conscious like all anxious people, but he's so hard and Hannibal's forceful thrusts are rubbing his aching cock pleasantly against the sheets and he's so _deep_ inside him Will can barely stand it. "Goddamn _youuu._ Yes. Can't you ever just shut up and fuck me?"

"I'll shut up. If you talk."

"About what?"

"Tell me how it feels. Give me the _shameful_ details."

Will's face is on fire. "It feels...amazing..."

"What does?"

"Your cock in me," Will moans, too turned on to keep fighting. "Your cock stretching me open." Given Hannibal's reaction, Will has his own epiphany: _He gets off on dirty talk. Will wonders never fucking cease_.

The ante has been upped, and Will goes for broke: "It's so  _big..._ you feel so _good,_ Hannibal... _yes..."_

Hannibal groans and braces himself on the headboard as if his knees have gone weak. _Bingo_. "More."

"You fuck me so good...oh, Hannibal...oh, it's so fucking good... _please_ fuck me..."

He doesn't have to ask twice. Hannibal is making his whole body shudder and Will is nearly clawing the pillow to pieces. It _is_ good, and he _does_ love the way Hannibal's cock seems made to fill him perfectly, and...Hannibal _is_ big, and he's even more embarrassed that he sort of likes that taking him hurts. Every cringe-inducing thought he forces himself to say out loud is bringing him closer...so close...

"Oh, _fuck,_ Hannibal..."

"Tell me," Hannibal pants.

"I can't," Will says breathlessly, "I can't...talk...I'm..."

"Tell me or I stop."

"Hannibal," he pleads, desperate, _he can't stop now,_ "Hannibal, please, _oh_ , please..." He racks his addled brains but _Hannibal_ and _please_ are the only concepts it currently understands. Suddenly he figures it out: "I'm going to cum, I'm going to cum so _hard,_ you make me cum so hard, I love it when you fuck me, please, use me, cum in me, yes, _yes—"_

Will's orgasm cuts him off and he can only move his mouth soundlessly as it overtakes him, bursting through him in lovely pulses, his body trembling deliciously against Hannibal's. Then he does say things, although he can't remember after what they are. Probably just mindless babble, stroking Hannibal's already massive ego with his helpless begging. Whatever he says, it makes Hannibal grip a handful of his ass tightly and come hard, leaning on the headboard, spitting Will's name as he fills him in jerking strokes.

"Holy fuck," Will says weakly, chuckling. Hannibal sinks back down on him with a long exhale, sweaty and hot as a furnace. Will wiggles uncomfortably until Hannibal lets himself fall to one side with exaggerated limpness. Will smiles at him and he winks, straight-faced.

They kiss and move close. The moon must be waning; only a dim sliver of light hits the bed from the window.

**Author's Note:**

> I think I set out to write something more serious/character-exploration-y but as always, uh...this happened. Whenever I write dialogue scenes for the two of them that incline towards Hannibal being cute I think of him playing the theremin with Alana. He can definitely be cute and teasing with his bf and still in character, haha. This could almost go with "Exposure Therapy" in a series about them exploring Will's kink for humiliation lol.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please please comment I will always reply to everyone! stumbleine-superqueen.tumblr.com


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